


An alpha for John

by OTPmorelike2000truepairings



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Teen John Watson, Teen Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:17:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPmorelike2000truepairings/pseuds/OTPmorelike2000truepairings
Summary: After being abused by his Alpha father, John Watson runs away with a few of his Omega friends. During a crime spree, John meets Alpha Sherlock Holmes, who just so happens to be his alpha. What's an omega to do when he's sworn off Alphas, yet has one so determined to pursue him?





	1. Family Bonds

**Author's Note:**

> *trigger warning for child abuse*

To say John Watson was having a bad day would be an understatement. His father had come home drunk yet again, and his older sister Harry had decided to provoke him. This had pissed his father off so much, the young alpha that challenged him, that he came to take out his frustration on his omega son. 

"John!" Roared his father. 

John gulped, but ran out of his room. "Yes, sir?"

"The housework hasn't been done!"

"I was going to do it after supper. I had homework."

"Homework? You listen to me, boy. No alpha wants an intelligent omega. You need to learn to clean house and be a nice bedwarmer. That's all you need to know."

John stands there silently. 

"What the f**k are you still doing here? I thought I told you to do housework." A sharp crack of a hand across his mouth sends John on his way, blood beginning to slowly trickle down his face. 

He hustles outside and begins pulling weeds with a vengeance. He hates Harry for provoking his father, hates his father for hitting him. 

"Let me see, John." His omega mother kneels next to him in the dirt, tenderly turning his face toward hers. 

"Hey," his father roars, stepping onto the porch. "Stay the h**l away from him!" 

He hates his father for not bonding with his mother, ensuring that (since she has a soulmate that won't bond with her) she has to listen to him. He hates that his father has destroyed the romantic notion of a soulmate that he's taught at school. Most of all, he hates that his father's treatment ensures he will never have a soulmate, because he's too afraid of being beaten. 

John's just finished with the weeding when his father bellows for him to come inside. He rushes in and cleans his hands. Dinner is a tense affair and John is relieved when it's over. He loads the dishes quickly without being asked. 

Once all the housework is done, he moved to his room to finish his homework. 

"John!" He hears just as he finishes the last sentence of his English paper.

"Yes, sir?"

"You call these dishes clean?"

It takes one glance for John to know three important things:  
1) Harry was supposed to put the dishes away.  
2) The dishes being dirty are therefore not his fault.  
3) His father is drunk enough one and two don't matter. 

His father, seemingly fed up with waiting for an answer, punches his son in the stomach before dragging him over to the basement stairs and throwing him down there. 

Lying in the dark, stomach hurting every time he breathes, arm feeling like it's broken, and previous slap to the face feeling newly re-opened, John Watson closes his eyes, thankful he's away from his father for now.

In the morning, his mother wakes him, washes him off, covers his bruises with makeup, and sends him off to school.


	2. Bonds of Friendship

John slips into class quietly, sneaking with his head down to the back row, ignoring the hot gazes of alphas on him. He has his hoodie up, a small defense to block out the world. He feels someone move into the seat in front of him, and has never been happier in his life to hear his omega buddy Mike Stamford say, "Okay, John?"

"Fine," he answers, smiling a tiny bit. 

Mike isn't stupid, thankfully, so he just looks at John and says, "Your dad again?"

"Yep," John confirms tonelessly. 

Fellow omega Jim Moriarty struts into class confidently, sees his friends in the back, and drops in next to them. 

"Hey Johnny, Mike." He sees the fourth of their group, quiet Molly Hooper, and stands up to yell "Yo Molly over here!" John flinches involuntary, which Jim notices but is too polite to comment on. 

"Hey Jim. Hi Mike. Hello John. You're a sight for sore eyes today." John halfway smiles, though it probably looks more like a grimace. "Your dad again?" Molly questions kindly. John nods. 

In the quiet that accompanies the teacher speaking, John begins a note to his friends explaining what happened. He passes it around, and by the time it gets back to him comments range from "This can't go on," from Molly, "Really, he said omegas are just housekeepers and bedwarmers?," from Mike, and "You should run away," from Jim. 

John's eyes keep returning to Jim's response throughout the lesson. The idea burns in his head, a leaping little ember of hope. As soon as they are released for lunch, he latches onto Jim's arm and tugs him away from their classmates, down the hall a bit and into the stairwell. They climb under there and seat themselves comfortably. Molly and Mike sit next to them, forming a circle of John's closest friends. 

"Did you mean it?"

"What? Running away?" At John's feverish nod, he shrugs. "Yeah, of course. I've done it before, not that hard." It's a well-known, little-mentioned fact between the four that Jim is a foster kid whose been in more homes than he has years to his life. If anyone understands omega abuse, it's Jim. 

"In fact, I could stand a change in scenery. My foster brother is trying to-" his voice trails off awkwardly, but then he clears his throat and recovers. "Anyway, I was planning to leave soon, wouldn't hurt to go with a friend."

"My mom wants me to quit coming to school," Molly says softly. "She said she's sending me to a boarding school so I can find my soulmate and be a good omega. I'll come with you guys."

"I hate you all," Mike says. "I'm coming along, because otherwise you idiots are all gonna end up dead."

"Okay," Jim says, rubbing his hands together with a malicious grin. "Here's what we need to do. I'll make a master list for everyone of things to bring. Put them in your backpack and leave your books, we won't need them where we're going. Roll your clothes into tight balls so you have more space. Mike and Molly, can you guys steal food?"

"Sure." 

Jim pulls out a sheet of paper and behind scratching. "I'll make a list for you guys, too."

John feels a lump in his throat. "Thanks, guys. It really means a lot to me that you'd-"

"Shut up, John, I'm trying to write." Jim reprimands. 

John laughs, and the group sits in silence for a while, with no sound except the ferocious scratching of Jim's pencil. When the bell rings, they pull each other up and walk to class. Finally, at the end of day, Jim hands John a sheet of paper. 

"See you tomorrow," he says, squeezing John's hand impulsively.   
.............................................................  
The next day, John kisses his mother goodbye and jumps on the bus. Harry is already gone, but John won't miss her anyway. His father is passed out drunk on the couch, good riddance. 

As soon as he gets off, he ducks behind the building. Jim is already there, wearing a pair of dark sunglasses. "Hey Jim. Looking stylish," John teases. Jim doesn't respond. Because he's often does the same thing, John reaches up and gently takes the sunglasses off. 

Jim's whole face is cut up and bruised. "You and I are a sight for sore eyes, Jim," John says lightly. "C'mon, let's go inside and get you fixed up."

"But Mike and Molly-"

"Leave our backpacks here so they know we were here." John's not going to take no for an answer, he's not letting Jim run around with open cuts that could become infected, so he tugs Jim into the school, stopping first to grab his pencil case. Once inside the bathroom and checking to be sure no ones there, he opens his pencil case to pull out hydrogen peroxide and Band-AIDS. Jim laughs, but it quickly morphs into a scowl as John dabs peroxide on the cuts. "Alright, I'm fine. Okay, stop!" Huffs Jim. 

John slaps some bandages on the worst of Jim's cuts, and then the two boys slip back outside. Mike and Molly are there now, much to John's relief. "Everybody pack what they needed to?" Jim asks, slipping into the role of leader once more. At everyone's nod, he orders "Let's go!"

In a group, the four slip alongside the school building, then off to safety.


	3. Stealing

Against all odds, at least in John's mind, he and his Omega pack had survived. It didn't take long into their journey for them to discover John was a natural leader, so he co-led with Jim. If he was an alpha, John would be the pack beta, seeing as how a pack beta could be either alpha or omega. But since he wasn't dating Jim, and Jim (though leader of the pack) wasn't an alpha, terminology didn't matter. 

They'd also found out that it was way too difficult for them to get supplies, especially in the winter when they needed warm clothes. It was Jim who led their forage into crime. He could disable security cameras in a matter of seconds, while John led their pack through the house to find what they needed.

After their first crime, the pack had been walking in the city when Jim stopped, pulling John to a stop beside him. "Would you look at that?" Jim asked, wonder in his voice. 

John looked where Jim was looking. A tall alpha male with black riotous curls was looking at something lying on the ground. It was nothing impressive. 

"What?"

"Sherlock Holmes," Jim breathed. 

"Who?"

"Sherlock Holmes! The world's only consulting detective! He's a genius, they say he can just look at a person and know their whole life story, and he's proven himself indispensable to the police at age seventeen!"

"That's impossible."

"If I had to pick an alpha, that would be the only one I'd want. I think I could tolerate an alpha like him." John rolls his eyes. "What? You don't like him?"

"No. I prefer my alpha to be of the female variety. Although I gotta say I hope my alpha stays as far away from me as he is right now, so that has to count for something." 

Jim chuckles. "You're weird, John."

"With good cause! C'mon, let's get out of here before your heroic alpha arrests us." 

Laughing, Jim allows himself to be pulled away. 

That night is one of the coldest yet. They have warm clothes, newly stolen, but it's not enough to keep them warm. John lies there with a sinking feeling that if he does get to sleep, he won't wake up. 

"This isn't working. Mike, get into the sleeping bag with Molly. Hopefully the body heat will help keep us warm," Jim orders. John hears the unzipping of his own bag, and suddenly Jim's body is pressed against his own. 

He turns around with a startled "Wha-wha-w-w-w?" 

"It's okay, John," Jim soothes. "Just keeping warm." Despite his protests, John curls into Jim. "You're freezing, John."

"S-s-s-sor-" 

"Stop trying to talk before you bite your tongue off. Go to sleep."

At some point, John's body stops its violent shaking and he drifts off to sleep. 

In the morning, John sees their stealing in a whole new light. Standing around the fire Jim built, John says, "Okay guys, rules for stealing. We obviously need to do this in order to survive, I understand that now. But we have to temper it. Only steal what we need, nothing else. If it's not essential to our survival, we beg for money and buy it."

"Rule two," Jim responds, "we're only going to steal from rich Alphas. They have materials to spare. Otherwise we don't touch it."

"Rule three: we don't hurt anyone, ever," Molly says, "we just steal."

Mike nods firmly. "I agree," he says, which is echoed by the others. 

"Jim, can you make a list of what all we'll need to steal?" John commands. Jim nods and begins to write. "You know guys, I used to use Bluetooth earpieces when I would steal. I had three at home that I brought." He pulls them out in amidst shocked looks from the rest of his pack. "What? Always be prepared, that's my motto. I would've been a great Boy Scout."

"If you ignore your pyromaniac thieving disposition, sure," responds Mike teasingly. 

"Shut up, trying to think," Jim answers, scratching the list. "Anyway, I'll go beg some money today, see if I can get enough for another one."  
.............................................................  
When Jim and Molly return that evening, both are glowing happily. "We found a job for the day," Molly reports. "Housekeeping for an Omega woman with ten children." John shudders. Another reason why he doesn't want an Alpha-after living on his own like this, he's not sure he wants one child, much less ten. 

"We got paid well," Molly says. 

"With a pay like that, we should be able to buy that last earpiece soon."

"Good," John answers softly. "Mike and I made dinner. Come eat while it's hot." 

As they all gather round the fire, John drifts off into his thoughts. He begins to wonder if there's really an Alpha out there for him, hopefully someone who wouldn't mind taking care of an abused homeless boy with tons of metaphorical baggage. Someone who likes his friends, and doesn't want kids. Someone who can respect that an Omega has a place in the world that may not necessarily be a homebody. Someone who loves him, cherishes him, adores him. He frowns. Then again, he really doesn't want that. After all, his father apparently wooed his mother that way. It wasn't until they got married that his true colors shone through. 

"John? John? Earth to John, come in John."

John's gaze snaps to Jim. "Shut up."

"Where'd you go, man?"

"Just thinking about the future."

"About what?"

John watches his best friends' faces carefully. "Do you think the stories are true? Is there really an Alpha out there that can love us in spite of this?" He gestures around the fire vaguely. 

Dead silence. John can tell that they are thinking about how to respond, which he appreciates. No snap answer or cliché, his friends are thinking about how to respond. 

"I think so, yes," Molly answers finally. "There HAS to be someone out there who can love me, besides you guys."

"How about me, then? Is there someone who could love an abused Omega?"

"Of course. We all love you, John, enough to run away with you. Someone else definitely will, too," Jim answers. "The world isn't divided into the abusers and the abused, John. There's more to you than that."

John feels his throat swell with emotion. "Thanks, guys."


	4. Guys, We Picked the Wrong House to Rob

About two months after their first robbery, John and his pack had broken into approximately ten houses of well-to-do Alphas. Jim had acquired the fourth Bluetooth earpiece, which enabled them to safely communicate with each other in different rooms of the house, which was really useful on the off chance that the family would return home before they were expected. 

The tenth such house had no indication on the outside of exactly how wrong this robbery would go. In fact, it seemed at first to be going quite well. Jim took down the alarms within thirty seconds, a new personal record, and they quickly split up all over the house. 

John walked through the bedrooms, looking for warm clothes that looked like they weren't worn often and thus might not be missed. Molly was down in the kitchen looking for food, while Mike was in the attic searching for warmer sleeping bags. 

"Jackpot!" Mike crowed in John's ear. "Zero degree sleeping bags! These will definitely help!"

"Whoever came home must have left in a hurry," Molly answered. "The groceries are all still in bags. And it's all canned stuff."

'That's strange,' John thinks. It's not until he finds the bag of clothes, warm winter clothes, all nicely folded that he becomes truly alarmed. He pulls out the shirt on top and holds it up, moving over to the mirror. It would fit perfectly. As John deftly refolds the shirt, his fingers brush over a piece of metal. John grabs it. A metal tracker gleams from between his trembling fingers.

John drops the tracker in horror and bolts out of the room. "Guys! They've got trackers; the supplies have trackers! Somehow they knew to expect us! Don't take anything, but get out of here!"

"Right, I'm leaving," Mike responds. 

"Jim?"

"I lost the security feed! Someone knows we're here!"

"Get out! Get out now! Molly?" No response. "Molly?" 

"I'm out of the house," reports Mike. 

"Jim, get out too. I'm going to look for Molly."

Softly, John tiptoes cautiously down the stairs. He hears voices, and grabs a poker by the fireplace. He promised Molly they wouldn't hurt anyone, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and John will do anything to protect his pack. 

Moving to the open doorway, John sees Molly inside talking with somebody. Molly is closest to the doorway, which John takes as a blessing. He steps into the kitchen, a floorboard creaking giving both occupants a warning to his approach. 

"Molly, we're leaving," John says calmly. Both Molly and the Alpha with her stare at him. John realizes belatedly that the Alpha is the same one Jim had admired earlier, during their first robbery. 

"Ah, Mr. Holmes, is it? Look, we didn't take anything, and we're not here to hurt you, so we'll just be leaving now. Come on, Molly."

"John, look out!" John whips around at Molly's shout. A tall man, taller even than Sherlock, with auburn hair had managed to sneak up behind him. John remembers the poker in his hands and stabs it in the direction of the newcomer's foot, lurching around to grab Molly's hand and tug her out the kitchen door. 

"Stop!" Roars the Alpha John attempted to stab. John snorts to himself. 'As if, buddy,' he thinks, flying across the yard rapidly. 

Then, suddenly he is stopping, stopping so quickly he nearly dislocates Molly's arm since they're still holding hands. In the distance, he hears another voice shout "Stop!" and his blood runs cold with horror. 

"John? What are you doing?" John tries to move his feet, but they refuse to follow his commands. 

"Molly, I think he's my Alpha," answers John. Since he's not bound to Sherlock Holmes, he has to follow the man's orders. It's the reason his father never bonded with his mother. And now, standing here in the yard of the house he just tried to rob, John is forced to come to terms with the idea that he does have an Alpha after all-one named Sherlock Holmes. 

"What? No, that's impossible! Come on, John!" She's still tugging at his hand, though they both know it's useless, John's Omega biology won't let him disobey his Alpha. 

John hears the front door open and hears one of the Alphas lurch into the snow. "Go, Molly! Run! And keep my pack safe!"

"I will. We'll come back for you John, I promise!" She kisses his cheek lightly than darts off to safety. 

John hears the man's footsteps behind him, and turns to meet the gaze of the man he stabbed. "Interesting," the man breathes, surprise visible on his face. "You're his soulmate." John nods tersely. "Well come on, then. You'll catch a cold standing out here." John's legs unlock and he follows the man back in the house. This simple fact alone tells him a few more things. The man is probably a family member of Sherlock's, because he can counteract Sherlock's orders. He's the leader of his pack, the Head Alpha, though Sherlock is certainly in the pack too. The man holds the door open and John ducks under the man's arm, spine tingling as he tenses for a hit. It never comes. 

"Oh, good job Mycroft, you actually caught one of the little thieves. I had assumed it would be the girl, but nevertheless I'm impressed."

"Sherlock, the boy was outside struggling to move."

Sherlock's hot gaze tells John he understands the implications of that. Sucking in a breath of shock, he moves forward so he's staring directly at John. His hand flies up and John flinches back. He doesn't realize the other Alpha is still standing behind him until he backs into him. "Don't touch me," John says to Sherlock. 

"Who abused you?" Sherlock questions bluntly. 

"Nobody!" 

"Obviously you're lying. You flinched away from me as soon as I went to touch you, and you flinched away from Mycroft earlier. Yet when you ran out the door you grabbed the Omega girl's hand. One possible conclusion is that you were abused by a man, but the fact that there are two Omega males in your pack lead me to say it was an Alpha who abused you. Probably someone in a position of power, considering your initial response to me was to talk, but when you saw Mycroft your automatic instinct was to stab him. Now you're nervous of me because you know I have power over you, meaning you were abused by an Alpha in power. Which brings us back to my original question: who abused you?"

"Nobody!" Insisted John. He backs away again, this time angling to the side so he doesn't back into Mycroft again. He watches both Alphas curiously, waiting to see which one will snap and hurt him first. 

"It might be best to have you stay with Gregory for now," Mycroft says, noting John's discomfort. "He's at work, but I can show you to his room." He leads John up the stairs, opening the door to the room John had gone into earlier. "We can order a second bed, the room's certainly big enough for it. I'll look online. Any preferences?"

"You can't buy me. I won't like your brother just because you buy me things." John's words are purposely antagonizing. He wants to see how much it will take before the man hurts him. 

"Well I'm sure that's encouraging," Mycroft says lightly. "We eat dinner around 5, please come down then." He shuts the door and John hears his footsteps travel off down the hall. 

"John? Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

"Jim?" John almost weeps in relief. "I'm fine. I'm alone now."

"Did they hurt you?"

"Not yet," John replies. He moves to the window, giving an experimental tug. It opens easily, making John smile. He leans out the window, then gulps. 'Don't think, just do it.' He pushes himself onto the windowsill, balancing precariously. He takes a deep breath and launches himself off the sill. For just a second, he is flying weightless, then the ground rushes up to meet him with unforgiving strength. There is an audible snap, and John is howling- way too loud, he knows the Alphas heard, and Jim is screaming in his ear, scared, but he can't stop screaming to reassure his friend. 

There is the sound of windows slamming and people screaming in addition to Jim in his ear. He feels arms around him, hears a voice shushing him, and he falls silent with a whimper. Sherlock, then, because if John had his way he'd still be screaming. He feels lulling, and John realizes distantly that Sherlock is carrying him. 

He hears a voice demanding, "Did you jump out the window?"

John nods. 

"Of the second story? Why?"

"Don't want an Alpha, don't wanna be hurt," John slurs through the pain. "Just wanted to go back to safety. With my friends." His head falls back limply. 

"I already called Dr. Angelo for my foot," Mycroft says. John hears his voice through a tunnel. He groans softly. Sherlock sets him down, and John's groan gets a lot louder. 

"Go to sleep, John," Sherlock orders. John slips gratefully into unconsciousness.


	5. What the Doctor Ordered *Mycroft Interlude*

As John was now sleeping, Sherlock and I waited quietly for Dr. Angelo. As we wait, Sherlock's hands smooth over John's hair in a manner meant to calm him. John gives a little sigh of contentment. 

The doorbell rings, and I move into the foyer to let the doctor in. "Hello, Mycroft. So I'm here to look at your foot?" 

"Later. In the time since we called, Sherlock's Omega took a flying leap out a window and broke his leg."

"Lead the way," Angelo says, clapping me on the back. I take him back to the living room. Sherlock is bent over John's prone body, eyeing us suspiciously. 

"Hello, Sherlock," Angelo greets. "May I take a look at your Omega?" It doesn't take a genius like Sherlock or I to realize my biology-is-only-transport brother has fallen slave to his biology and feels the drive to protect John. 

After a moment, Sherlock moves back, though not far. Dr. Angelo takes that as the acquisition it is and moves in, setting his bag on the side table. "He's beautiful, Sherlock. Congratulations on finding him." Sherlock nods in agreement. "I'd like to do a full physical exam while I'm here. What's his name?"

"John," Sherlock answers proudly. 

"Hello, John. I'm Dr. Angelo. I'm here to take a look at you and take care of your leg." Angelo kneels down next to John. "He's dirty, Mycroft can you grab a container and some washcloths and towels?" I grab the supplies, including new clothes, and return. 

Angelo pulls off John's shirt, and we all three gasp. Scars and ugly yellow bruises litter John's skin. The story of abuse is clearly written in his skin. I hear a low growl and look beside me. Sherlock's lips are pulled back into a snarl and his eyes are wild. 

"Sherlock, can you help me? Mycroft, back up a bit." I'm already on my feet before the words are out of his mouth. Looking at John, my own instincts are screaming at me to protect. I can only imagine how much worse it is for Sherlock, whose instincts are shouting at him to protect John from the world. 

Dr. Angelo and Sherlock cleanse John as I watch. Angelo's fingers move professionally over John's body. "One of his ribs is clearly out of place, but it's healed wrong. I have to re-break it so it heals properly. Sherlock, go stand by John's head. Be sure he stays unconscious. Mycroft, come here. I'm going to need help to break the rib." I move obediently next to Dr. Angelo. He shows me what to do, and we work together to break John's rib. The crack is loud in the silent room, and I gasp sympathetically. Angelo manipulates John's rib and wraps bandages around his trunk. "This won't do anything for him, medically speaking," Angelo tells us. "I'm doing it so he knows to expect pain there as he wakes up." 

He resets John's leg and puts a cast on that. "Right, I'll leave some papers for you two, instructions on how to care for his cast and his ribs. Now then, why did he leap out the window?"

"He said something about 'I don't want an Alpha,'" Sherlock states. 

"Unfortunately that makes sense. I'd wager that those bruises and scars came from a Family Alpha. Sherlock, I'm sure you already know this, but you must be very gentle with him. No experiments, no shooting the walls, no yelling. When you mess up, because you will, nobody's perfect, apologize as quickly as possible. This boy needs to be treated gently, almost coddled a bit. But don't force him to be close to you. You let him decide if he wants to be close to you-physically, emotionally, and mentally. Encourage behavior you want. Finally, reinforce that no matter what happens, he will be safe here."

Sherlock nods, face serious. "I'll work on that," he says, and I know he will. My baby brother will try to take care of John to the best of his ability. 

"Let me see your foot, Mycroft," Angelo tells me, so I sit down and let him inspect me. John's poker didn't break my bone, but I do have a small hole in my foot which is treated. More papers are given about diet and signs of infection, and Dr. Angelo finally leaves with a whirl of his white coat.

Sherlock hands me something, and I recognize it as a Bluetooth device. I put it into my ear, then say, "Hello?"

"You're not John, who are you? Where is John? Is he okay?" The questions are rapid-fire so I can't answer them. 

"Be calm. My name is Mycroft Holmes. John attempted to leap out of a second-story window and broke his leg. It has been reset, but we had him go to sleep and he hasn't yet woken. He will be alright."

"Mycroft Holmes, brother of Sherlock?"

"One and the same. Who am I addressing?" 

Silence. "What do you want?"

"I think I want the same things you do. To assure John is safe. When he jumped he told us he wanted to return to you, and to keep away from his Alpha. I was rather hoping you would all return and come live with us so John doesn't attempt to hurt himself again. That way you can also reassure yourselves he's alright."

There is silence for literally five minutes. I can only assume the precocious Omega I spoke with is relaying my message to his friends so they can decide together the best course of action.

"Still there, Mycroft?"

"Yes," I answer. 

"We're coming back."

"Very good. We will expect you shortly."

Within a few minutes, our back door is opening to admit three young Omegas. I recognize the young girl Sherlock was talking with, off to the left of a boy who is clearly the leader. Another boy stands to the leader's right. Since the boy in front is the leader, I address him. 

"Hello, I am Mycroft Holmes. Would you like to see John?"

"Yes." I recognize the leader's voice as that of the young man I spoke with. I lead them into the parlor. Sherlock is still standing with John, murmuring to him. With great reluctance he peels himself away and the Omega pack gathers around. 

"What happened to his ribs?"

"We had to re-break them because they didn't heal properly. Whoever abused him probably broke them then wouldn't allow him to get treatment."

The boy's lips pull back in a snarl. 

Vaguely I hear our front door. Gregory is home. He walks into the room. Before I can go over to him, I hear the leader snap, "Mike, Molly, we're leaving now!" I instantly deduce his thought process and leap in front of the door before they can leave. 

My hand flies up in a placating manner. "This isn't what you think. My Omega, Gregory, is a Detective Sergeant for New Scotland Yard."

The pack looks back and forth between us. It's Gregory who finally breaks our standoff. "Hi, I'm Greg Lestrade. Who are you?"

"Jim Moriarty," the leader introduces. "This is Mike Stamford and Molly Hooper with me. On the couch is our fourth pack member and Sherlock's soulmate John Watson."

Gregory's eyes widen a bit with surprise. 

"We broke into your house to steal things, but Mycroft invited us to live with you guys because when we left John tried to jump out a window to come too. He broke his leg during his landing, which is why he's on the couch," continues Jim. 

"Sherlock's Omega has a clear history of Alpha abuse," I add. 

Gregory's face hardens. "Do you three know who hurt him?"

None of them answer. "Look, buddy," Jim replies, "we ran away. It's against the law, but we did it. We broke into ten different houses to steal so we could survive. If we tell you anything, the law sides with the Alphas. We tell you who hurt him, he's gonna get taken back and be hurt worse. We know that, we're not stupid."

"I want to help," Gregory answers. 

"Don't be dumb. You already are helping. Just don't ask questions we can't answer."

Gregory frowns but doesn't answer Jim. I take this as my cue to speak. "So will you stay with us?"

Jim, Mike, and Molly hold a conversation with their eyes alone. They all seem in agreement, "Yes," Jim says, speaking for the pack. "But we're leaving if anything bad happens."

"That's fair. We have supplies upstairs, if anyone would like to get cleaned up."

"Molly, you can go first. Mike and I will watch John." I lead Molly to the bathroom, give her the clothes-Sherlock and I figured out long ago that one of the thieves was a female, and her size in case we were ever targeted- and leave. I repeat the process two more times for Mike and Jim. Mike doesn't speak to me, but Jim asks, "Why are you doing this?"

"John is my brother's Omega. If for only that reason I'd want to keep him happy. But seeing the scars on him- I just think he might want you guys around."

"Thank you."

I nod, then let him alone. As soon as he comes back downstairs, John began stirring.


	6. Waking Up

I blink, opening my eyes to a strange room. "Where am I?" I was with Jim, Mike, and Molly outside. We ran away because my father abused me, and had been on our own for 3 months. 

"John? You're with us. It's okay. We found your soulmate, so we all moved in," Molly answers. The response, though disjointed, is enough to remind me of what happened. I try to move, but it shoots horrific pain through my body. Has my soulmate hurt me already?

"Your ribs are broken and so is your tibia and fibula. You broke your leg by leaping out a window. While you were unconscious, a doctor assessed you and found you had a broken rib which they had to break again so it could heal properly," my Alpha tells me. 

I eye my Alpha. He speaks like an encyclopedia, which makes me wonder, "How old are you?"

"Eighteen. Mycroft is twenty-five, and his Omega Gregory is twenty-two. How old are you?"

"Sixteen. Mike's sixteen too. Molly will be sixteen next month. Jim's seventeen."

"We decided that you will be staying with Gregory for now," announces Sherlock. 

"Oh we have, have we?" I hear him mutter. My eyes scan him when he's not watching me. The idea of living with a cop, rooming with one, is intimidating. I begin to wonder if he's like me-does he want to be here, or have they essentially kidnapped him like they did me? Is he in love with his soulmate, or does he only tolerate him? I realize belatedly Sherlock is waiting for a response, so I nod. 

"I'll show you upstairs," Sherlock says, then scoops me into his arms. 

Being held like this instantly brings back bad memories. The only times I've been picked up lately were by my father, and then only to be thrown down the basement steps. I panic. I'm hyperventilating and crying, begging to be put down. Sherlock puts me back on the couch and backs away, looking pale. 

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. I'm too busy trying to control my breathing to respond. Molly crawls up onto the sofa with me, taking one of my hands and patting it gently, whispering softly in my ear. I can't understand what she's saying, but the tone is soothing and I quickly calm.

I stand up, wobbling until Jim lurches forward to grab me. "I'll walk up," I say casually, forcing myself to meet Sherlock's gaze. "Maybe you can lead the way?" Sherlock nods stiffly. "Mike, can you grab my other arm?"

"I've got you," Greg answers, smiling at me, grabbing me under the arm. "Benefits of being a Detective Sergeant, I'm strong!" He sounds so enthusiastic about this that I laugh. 

We make an odd group traveling up the stairs. With plenty of help I'm able to get upstairs, though I'm pale by the time I get there. Greg helps me sit on the bed, propping pillows so I'm comfortable. 

"Right, so this is my room. But now it's yours too, John. Don't worry, I'll sleep in Mycroft's room so you have space." 

Sherlock frowns. "No you won't, you'll stay here with John."

"No I won't! I'm going to stay with Mycroft! That's why he wants John here, so I can finally move into his room where I belong!"

We all look around awkwardly, trying to not get involved in the pack drama playing out in front of us. 

"Don't be naïve, Greg," snaps Sherlock. "He wants you here so John doesn't take a flying leap out a window again!"

"Don't call me naïve!"

"Go ask him then, if you don't believe me!"

"Fine! I will!" The door slams, and Greg is gone. 

Sherlock throws himself next to me, which makes me jump. A quick glance at him makes me realize he's not attacking, he's pouting. 

"Are you pouting?" I ask, surprised. 

"No," he pouts in response. I don't want to call him out on it though, for fear of what he will say. 

Greg comes back in. "Turns out, you're right," he addresses Sherlock. 

"I usually am," he answers cockily. 

"Yeah, yeah. Get out of my room. It's too crowded with your six-foot pouty self lying on the bed."

Sherlock pulls himself up sulkily and saunters off. Just when I think he's gone, his head pops back in. 

"Greg, please help John up to my lab tomorrow morning whenever he wakes up."

"I'll think about it," Greg answers. 

"If I give you puppy dog eyes, will you?"

"If you give me puppy dog eyes, I will throw a pillow at you." Sherlock must pull the eyes, because a moment later a pillow goes hurtling at his face. The door slams shut and I hear Sherlock chuckle as he moves down the hall. 

"Greg?" I ask, before I can lose my nerve. He grunts at me, so I question, "Are you like me, being held here against your will, or is it voluntary?"

Greg smirks a bit. "Completely voluntary. Last year, I was working a case when Sherlock showed up. He began doing that deduction thing of his where he can tell someone's life story by looking at them." I grin with relief, Sherlock can tell anyone's life story, which means I don't have the word "victim" written somewhere on my forehead. 

"A few days later, Sherlock dhows up at a new scene. Mycroft came with him, stood back a respectable distance, and watched him work. Neither of them introduced him, so I went to chase him off. As soon as I approached, he looked at me and congratulated me on having this job. The second he spoke-oh this is embarrassing-I practically swooned. I knew right then who he was to me. He knew it too. After that, he started intensely courting me. Sending flowers to work for me, sending food, the works. Eventually he started showing up with whatever he brought. After about two weeks he asked me to move in, so I said yes."

"Were you gay before you met Mycroft?" 

Greg laughs. "Definitely. Even if Mycroft hadn't been my Alpha, I still found him very handsome." Something about John's face inspires Greg to ask, "Are you gay, John?" gently. 

"No! That's why this is a huge mistake. I'm not gay, I'm not attracted to Sherlock, and I'm never planning to get bonded either!" Greg reaches over to place a calming hand on John. He realizes John's pack, though they've been silent, are all touching John and lending support to the distraught Omega. 

After a few minutes, John's last question comes. "Have either of them hurt you?"

"No, never! I get bruises sometimes when Mycroft gets a little too...amorous..." he takes one look at John's face and says, "but you probably didn't need to know that. Neither of them have ever hurt me in any way. They're both very kind."

John nods. He slowly drifts off to sleep. His pack members curl up together on the floor. "Hey, you have your own rooms, if you want."

"Not tonight," Jim answers politely. "We'd prefer to be with him." 

Greg agrees, and drifts off to sleep.


	7. Sherlock's Experiments

Some point in the middle of the night, I dream of my Father. I wake up not remembering the details but terrified just the same. As my eyes fly open I realize my pack and my Alpha's are surrounding me, which makes me cringe-guess I was louder than I thought. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry," I chant. "Just a nightmare."

My Alpha frowns. "I think you have PTSD," he tells me. 

I shrug. "I wouldn't know. Either way, sorry I woke you guys up."

Mycroft and Sherlock leave, and I lie there and stare at the ceiling until it's time to get up.   
.............................................................  
Getting ready is an exhaustive struggle I wasn't prepared for. As it turns out, my ribs hurt like a devil, and I can't stand on one of my legs. Even though I had been trying to get dressed quietly, I fall over onto the bed, making Greg jump awake. The poor man feels obligated to help me, so I do make it downstairs. 

"I can take it from here," rumbles my mate as soon as I'm down the stairs. Greg, bless his heart, doesn't let go of me until I nod to tell him it's okay. 

"He needs to eat, Sherlock," Greg tells him. 

"I know," answers Sherlock. He leads me gently into the dining room and helps me sit, thankfully not picking me up completely. As he does, Jim, Mike, and Molly stumble into the room, wiping sleep from their eyes. 

Mycroft is already seated and dressed to the nines. He's methodically eating a grapefruit. I watch Greg grab his arm and yank him in for a kiss, which is entertaining. With the way Mycroft looks right now, I wouldn't want to touch him, much less kiss him. Greg obviously doesn't think the way I do. 

Of course, I wouldn't want to kiss Mycroft because I'm not gay. Men just aren't attractive to me. Yet Sherlock is my soulmate. I stop staring at Mycroft and swivel a bit so I'm staring at Sherlock instead. I mean, his hair is beautiful, and his voice is what some female Omegas would refer to as 'sex personified', but do I find him attractive? Is recognizing someone's sex appeal the same thing as finding them attractive? And even if I find Sherlock attractive, that doesn't mean I want to do anything about it. I mean, I can recognize Jim would be attractive to a female, but I've certainly never felt a desire to date him or even kiss him. 

I realize I've been staring at Sherlock too long, because he's staring at me in confusion. Desperate for an excuse, I try for the first thing that comes to mind. "You're not eating?"

"I don't eat too much. Taking care of transport is tedious." I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I don't even try. 

Mycroft stands up and heads off for work. Greg follows him. Sherlock waits patiently until I am done eating to help me up. We go up the stairs, Sherlock's strong arms under me, and he swings open the door to a room I haven't been inside yet. "This is my lab," he tells me, pride in his voice. 

Looking around the room, I'm having trouble figuring out what he's so proud of. The room is messy and looks like a tornado went through. Petri dishes with mold are thrown over a table haphazardly, and papers are littered throughout. He has beakers thrown in a sink, some on the floor, and two over by the window. There's a skull on the windowsill, and I can't tell if it's real or not. He has two large bookshelves filled with textbooks, and a chair settled off to the side. 

"This is your chair now. Mycroft and I brought it up here last night." He looks around the room. "So what do you think?"

"It's a bit messy, isn't it?" I try politely. He looks around again, frowning. 

"A bit, I guess. But cleaning distracts from the Work."

Sometimes I wonder if the things Sherlock says to me are supposed to make sense. 

Sherlock gets me settled and begins banging around. I sit and daydream, remembering happier times in my childhood. I think about growing up with Harry, and when she told me she liked girls and hoped her future mate was a girl. I wish I could talk to her, she'd find it funny her straight-laced little brother has a male Alpha. 

When I look up again, it almost seems as though Sherlock and his experimental table have moved closer. Huh, that's weird. I'm going nuts, I would've noticed him moving the table for sure. 

I fall asleep curled in the chair and wake up to an alarm. "Wh-what's that?"

"I set an alarm to remind myself to feed you lunch. I won't remember otherwise."

I wince as he stands me up. My muscles have been tight for three months, but this takes the cake. I notice Sherlock's sharp eyes on me and try to cover my grimace. 

"May I massage you?" he asks me. 

"No need, I'm fine," I lie. 

He shoots me a look of pure tragedy. "Why do you do that?"

"What?"

"Push me away?"

"I'm not pushing you away. Quite the opposite, in fact," I joke as he loops his arms around me. 

Whatever I've said seems to upset him more. "Never mind." 

"No, come on Sherlock. What do you mean?" He won't answer me. In fact, for the rest of the day he won't talk to me, barring anything that needs to be communicated. I do notice that the table seems to move a little closer again. When Sherlock's not looking, I make a scruff in the floor with my foot.   
.............................................................  
The next morning I convince Greg to help me up to Sherlock's lab before he leaves for work. I also have him help me over to the table for a minute so I can 'see what Sherlock's working on.' The table is moved past the scuff mark I made, confirming that the table really is moving. I just don't know why. 

Sherlock breezes in a minute later. He goes over to the refrigerator and pulls something out. As he turns, I spy a brain on the tray. He sets that down, pulls out a bunch of colored pins, and begins pushing them into the brain. 

As he works, I watch him. He moves with a surprising amount of grace and can make even this look beautiful. I watch him for a while until he glances up at me. "What?" My face goes red, but I can't figure why. 

"Nothing." I think it's awkward being around him right now. Part of me wants to trust him and believe he won't hurt me, the other half remembers my parents and knows that just because I feel safe doesn't mean I am. 

We are silent together for a while. A few hours have passed before Sherlock blurts "Aha!" and runs from the room. 

Once I'm certain he's gone, I manage to somehow pull myself up and hobble over to see what he found. I read over his notes but can't find anything. In fact, it looks like he was just identifying different parts of the brain. 

A quick glance around makes me think he's not coming back. The brain has been left on the table, and I'm interested to learn. Once upon a time, a happier time, I wanted to be a Doctor. It can't hurt to learn, right? 

Before I can change my mind, I've identified the third ventricle-thank you textbook- and I'm pushing the pin in. I add my handwriting neatly underneath Sherlock's own sloppy notation- green pin: third ventricle. 

I quickly lose track of time. After I get done, I study the pins I put in and remove them. Looking at the names, I try to push them back in in the right spots. I fail epically, which makes me laugh at myself. I try again and do better. 

Next, I pull out Sherlock's pins. I put them back in, smiling like a lunatic. I'm completely wrong, don't get even one right, but I am learning and that makes me proud. My father always said I wasn't smart enough to be a doctor, but here I am. I do it again, and get two right. "In your face, Dad," I say. 

"John?" I jump, not having heard Sherlock come up behind me. "What are you doing?" he questions as he stabilizes me.

"Just learning parts of the brain."

"You've been doing that for the past three hours."

"Oh." Three hours? This surprises me. Then I realize something else. "How do you know how long I was learning?" It's Sherlock's turn to look embarrassed for once. "And while you're at it, why don't you tell me why the table keeps moving?"

"Well, I was curious as to how close I could get to you without upsetting you or making you nervous. Moving the table slowly was a method of systematic desensitization, getting you acclimated to my presence in small increments so as not to upset you."

"Why would that matter?"

"It shouldn't! But it does, because you're my mate, and my biology demands I know how close I can get! I NEED to be able to provide for you, protect you, and overall care for you, but you keep refusing me!"

"I'm not-" I try to defend myself, but Sherlock is on a roll. 

"You seem fine with your own pack, and you seem to have accepted Greg easily. H**l, you've even accepted Mycroft! Mycroft! But me? You can't let me touch you without shuddering or tensing or some combination of the two!"

He turns away from me, seeming to have finally run out of steam. 

"I'm sorry," I tell his back. "I wish I knew I could trust that you wouldn't hurt me. I wish I knew I could love you without getting hurt."

I shuffle to the door and somehow make my way to Greg's room. Sherlock doesn't come after me, which to me speaks volumes. I wait until the sun goes down, but he leaves me alone.


	8. Starting Over

The next morning I tell Greg I am refusing to go with Sherlock up to his lab. After a lot of arguing, Mycroft agrees to take me to work with him. Jim decides he wants to come along too, which Mycroft also agreed to. At least one of our hosts is accommodating. 

Jim asks Mycroft a question about security, and they both quickly take the conversation to a level I can't even hope to follow. 

Mycroft's work is a nondescript building from the outside, but the inside is immaculate. I instantly feel out of place in my baggy jumpers and sweatpants, trying to hurry along on my broken leg to keep up with Mycroft's long strides. 

He swings open an office door. The interior is significantly larger than I might have imagined anyone of his age to have. I can't tell if he decorated the interior or not-the room is detailed in the dark colors Mycroft seems to prefer, with no personal touches to denote its owner. But then again, Mycroft's house looks much the same way. 

The room itself is dark brown, with a light brown carpet. It has a small fireplace with hearth tucked in the corner unobtrusively, which I like a lot. The wood of his desk is oak, offset by his black leather chair. His computer is a sleek laptop which he pulls from the messenger bag he carries. Based on Jim's face, the computer is a nice one. 

Mycroft pulls two more things from his bag, composition books for Jim and I. "I'm not really sure how to entertain you, and I'm not really good at this kind of thing."

Jim laughs and hands his book back to Mycroft. "You got a spare computer?" 

"Yes of course."

"Hook me up."

Mycroft gets him a computer, which Jim powers on with a soft "Sweet!" This is the last I hear out of him for the next three hours. 

I sit there and write for a while. I begin writing about my father, and suddenly everything comes pouring out onto that paper- Dad's abuse, Mom's suffering, Harry's tendency to provoke, and me, trying to please yet always failing, my own fears about having an Alpha and specific examples to back it up. It's as though all the poison that's been poured in me as a child is bleeding it's way onto the pages. 

We break for lunch, but I can't be bothered to stop, or else I might lose my outlet. My words have a point and a purpose; they are cathartic and I am healing. I write like a possessed person, and it may possibly be the hardest thing I've ever done, but it feels so good. I am wounded, yes, but I am determined to heal. 

By four pm, my hands hurt but my heart is light. I take the notebook, page after page of my past, and rip them up, shred them into tiny little pieces with vicious delight. 

'See this, Dad?' I think. 'Here's what I think of your ideas. I'm useless?' Rip. 'Mom's no good?' Tear. 'You wish we'd never been born?' Rip. 'I'm done with you.' I begin throwing my pieces of confetti into the fire. 'I have a soulmate now, Dad. And I have to believe he's everything you're not. Like Molly said, I have to hold out hope that someone can love me, and I hope that man's name is Sherlock Holmes.'

I'm not naïve enough or innocent enough to believe I am instantly cured of a childhood of abuse, but it feels like a step in the right direction. 

"Ready to go, John?"

"Yeah, sorry," I answer. 

"It's alright. You clearly needed that."

"We've been waiting for literally the past hour," informs Jim sassily. 

"Shush, Jim," reprimands Mycroft. 

"Oh. Sorry," I apologize again. 

I'm nervous the whole ride home, thinking about what's next. I need to apologize to Sherlock for pushing him away. I'm lost in thought again, fretting over how Sherlock will respond, not realizing I'm tapping my leg incessantly until Mycroft's hand lands on my knee. I jump. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mycroft asks. 

"No thanks."

My emotions are overwhelming and I can't take it. "Can you please stop the car?"

Mycroft does, and I leap out, crawling over Jim and accidentally elbowing him in the face. I tumble out like a gangly colt, suddenly remembering my broken bones as the pain flares. I don't care though, I have to walk. 

I begin pacing around anxiously. I know Mycroft has gotten out of the car too, and that Jim has moved to the side, watching me with anxious eyes, but I can't stop to assure them I'm okay. 

"John? John? John, it's okay." I realize I'm starting to hyperventilate again. I also realize I'm upsetting Mycroft. I have to stop, otherwise he might hit me. I try holding my breath, but that doesn't help. 

"We're here, Johnny." There are hands on my arms. I tense a moment, then relax. The hands aren't hurting me, and they're not demanding anything. They're gentle and reassuring and familiar-Jim's hands, then. 

"John, I'm going to move you." I can feel my body being lifted, and I'm in someone's lap. There is a comforting, familiar, safe scent there which automatically calms me. I nose against the scent, and feel hands wrap around me in response. "I'm here, John. We're here." Other hands rub along my spine, and I calm more. 

I lift my head to realize that instead of being cradled in Jim's arms like I thought I was, I am in Mycroft's. I launch myself out of his arms, stuttering apologies. 

"It's fine, John." He sits on the ground, an odd picture in his fancy clothes, but the part of me that feels threatened appreciates it. "Please, sit down."

I do, feeling Jim settle behind me, and I grab his arm for support. "What happened, John?"

"I was thinking of trying to initiate a relationship with my Alpha."

Mycroft nods seriously. "It is your decision, John."

"I don't want my Father to have the satisfaction of keeping me from being happy." Mycroft says nothing, so I continue. "But I've pushed Sherlock away a lot the past few days. He might not want me, or he might be upset."

"I see."

"I know it is my decision, but I think this is what I want. I owe it to both myself and him to invest myself in a relationship with him. I can do this, just, the initial conversation idea really scares me. I should explain, just so he understands my history, but I've never fully talked about it before and I'm scared to death."

"Would you like to talk about it with other people present? We could have your pack, Greg if you want too, there for support. I could sit with Sherlock if you want, or get lost for the conversation. Whatever would make you more comfortable is what I want to do."

I think this over. "Maybe. That might really help."

"Are you ready to go home now?"

"I think so, yes." We climb back into the car and head home. Once we get there, I go inside and bellow, "Sherlock!" 

Black curls come over the balcony. 

"I'd like to talk to you," I tell him before I can lose my nerve. "Family meeting?"

He is downstairs faster than I thought possible, bright eyes roving me. "I've missed you," I hear him whisper softly, shyly. "I'm going to smell you," he tells me, ducking in to sniff curiously at my neck. He steps back again, having satisfied his inner Alpha by assuring my safety. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. I just-I wanted to start over. But I think you should know a bit of my history beforehand."

"You don't have to," reassures my Alpha kindly. 

"I want to."

"Okay. Come along then, Mycroft." Sherlock seizes Mycroft's forearm and they both walk in the parlor. My pack gathers round, each squeezing my arm in encouragement before they enter. 

Greg finishes the group with a "Good luck," as he enters. I take a deep breath and enter the parlor myself, ready to lay another ghost to rest.


	9. Family Meeting

As I enter the parlor, I notice Mycroft is sitting with Sherlock on the loveseat. Both look vastly uncomfortable. Jim and Molly are sitting on the couch with a space in the middle, clearly meant for me. Greg is on the left arm of the couch nearest Molly, with Mike on the opposite side nearest Jim. There are two empty chairs, and my automatic thought is 'This won't work.'

I don't realize I've spoken aloud until Mycroft answers me. "Do you need people out?"

"No. Just...different spots." I think for a moment, trying to adjust positions mentally. "Jim, pull that chair over by Sherlock. Sit there. Greg, sit on the chair by Mycroft. Mike, sit by me."

I can see Jim is fuming, so I explain. "In case I can't talk to Sherlock, I can talk to you, Jim. Kind of forget he's there, as it is. You're my best friend, if I can't talk to him I can to you. And Greg, you're just more safe for me to look at and talk to than Mycroft. It's the Omega thing." Jim sits, pacified. I wait until Greg has moved the chair and sat to sit down myself. My hand finds Molly's, and then after a minute I grab Mikes hand too. 

I take a few more deep breaths, release my friends' hands, lock and unlock my fingers, cross and uncross my legs, and realize I'm stalling. "Right, so. Um. I mean, you already know I was, um, hurt," I begin, looking at Sherlock. I take both hands again. "It was my Father, by the way." Sherlock nods. 

"When I was growing up, my Father liked to drink a lot. He often got angry when he was drunk, and he was drunk all the time. When I was young, like newborn to four age, my Mother was able to either distract my Father from me, or to keep me quiet so he basically forgot I was there. It worked out pretty well."

"Mother started Harry and I out doing chores, little things around the house like taking out the trash or loading the dishwasher. Once my Father realized Harry was an Alpha, he put a stop to that. Harry wasn't allowed to do 'Omega things' like clean the house. It was the first time I realized there was a difference between Alphas and Omegas. Every once in a while Harry could do the dishes, but that was it."

"One day, I had to have Harry help me with the trash. It was too heavy for me, so I needed her help. My Father came home and saw. He yelled at me, told me I was useless, and hit me. He hit Harry too. I was grounded, but Harry wasn't. That was the beginning."

I frown, standing up. I walk around the couch, then sit back down. "Anyway, after that my Father kept finding things I didn't do right. I would get hit for the slightest thing being out of place, or not being done to his standards. I always thought that I was the reason why he hit me, so it kind of made sense to me."

"That's a lie!" Blurts out Greg furiously. I smile lightly. 

"It's what I thought. My Father would throw me down the steps, hit me, punch me, kick me, belittle me, and I just thought I deserved it." 

"What about your mother, John?" Mycroft prompted. 

"My Mother got the same treatment I did. She tried to intervene for me all the time, but she got hurt worse than I did. I finally told her to stop because he hurt her worse, and I didn't want her to get hurt. She didn't always listen. The one time my Father came home- I've never seen him as drunk as he was that night. He fought with Harry-she provoked him often, and he took that out on us-and he came into my room. I was trying to sleep, laying in bed, you know." I'm talking only to Jim now. "He kissed me. Was saying all this stuff about teaching me my place and how to behave as an Omega. I screamed. My Mother came in, distracted him, took him away. The next day there were-oh God-" my voice is cracking now and I'm choking on unshed tears "he-he-" I can't finish. Molly's hand is caressing mine lovingly. She is comforting, and I relax and dig down deep for strength. 

"There were bruises all over. He hurt her. She was bleeding and- from cuts and he yanked some of her hair out and it was my fault because if I had just stayed quiet it wouldn't have happened!"

I'm breathing hard now. "I asked why she didn't just leave. She told me he's her soulmate, but he won't bite her, so she had to listen to him. She had to let him hurt her."

Nobody says anything for a bit, and I'm not sure if it's shock or pity that keeps them quiet. "So now you know," I tell Sherlock. "Not only am I broken, I'm also not strong enough to protect the people I love. And the thing is, everything he's ever said I believed. 'Stupid, worthless, useless, lazy, good-for-nothing, c**t, b****h.' I believed every single word."

"Freak, sociopath, psychopath, weirdo," Sherlock answers me. 

"What?" I'm surprised he has the audacity to sit there and mock me after what I just said. 

"Uncaring, never be a good Alpha," he shrugs, "all things I've been told over the years. I believed them too, John."

"But that's ridiculous. You're a fine Alpha," I argue. 

"And you are a perfect Omega. My perfect Omega."

His words halt everything- my anger, my sadness, everything. "How can you possibly think that after what I just told you?"

"How could I not? Running away, escaping your father, forming your own pack and surviving for three months on your own- do you see the strength that took?"

I've never looked at it like that before. I think it over now. "I guess it did take a lot of strength," I allow. 

"Yes it did. Your father broke you, John, but you've picked up the pieces and mended yourself. You're not broken, John, and you are certainly none of those other words either, any more than I am the words bullies slung at me. They do not define me, and your father certainly doesn't define you."

I contemplate this. It's an odd picture, the way my Alpha sees me. Perhaps someday I can see myself this way too. 

Mycroft stands slowly, stretching his lanky body and popping his back. "Thank you for your honesty, John," he says, then hugs me. Greg follows his mate, hugging me and squeezing my hand but not saying anything. 

My pack is the next to evacuate. Molly hugs me and pecks my cheek with a timid, "Love you, John." 

"Great job, buddy," Mike tells me as he hugs me. 

"I could happily murder your father and not lose any sleep tonight," Jim tells me. "I'm glad your mom was there to keep you safe. Mine wasn't. You're not alone, and you're stronger than you know. Your Alpha is right about that part," he tells me. He leaves then, and Sherlock and I are left alone. 

My mate approaches me. "May I sit with you?"

I shrug. "Sure." We sit in silence until I fall asleep. In the morning when I wake, I am nestled safely in my Alpha's arms. And although a large part of me says I should fight this, I nuzzle in closer until my Alpha stirs.


	10. John's Mistake

Now that Sherlock knows my past, I'm able to let go of some of my reservations and actually be friends with him. We work together up in the lab, with me playing assistant since I can sit for a while if my healing body decides to pain me. 

Sherlock asks me about the time I was up here labeling, and I confess my desire to be a doctor. After that, he quizzes me on different body parts. "What's this, John?" He barks. "It's the only piece of anatomy that matters!" When I correctly identify it, he answers with "Mmm, yes, but I lied to you. This isn't the part that matters. The only thing a professor will care about is this. What is this?" and so on. 

One day he comes home with a brain that we dissect together. We label the parts then viciously demolish the lobe responsible for PTSD. Since that moment, I had the brain memorized. 

Sherlock teaches me chemistry and biology too. We do several experiments together, several of which I'm not even sure why we're doing, but they're interesting. For example, why the categorizing of 243 different types of tobacco ash will ever be necessary is far beyond me. Personally, I think Sherlock just enjoyed the expression of abject horror on Mycroft's face when he gleefully elaborated on our experiments for his brother's benefit. 

As we work together I begin to notice something a bit frightening- I'm noticing more and more good qualities about my soulmate. The way he helps me learn, the friendly way we laugh together, all spells disaster. I like the way his hair falls, and the color of his eyes. I think he's brilliant, and I think I'm falling for him, but I also don't think I'm gay. His mouth and those perfect Cupid bow lips look like I should kiss them, his hair is the perfect length to wind around my fingers, and I'm still not gay. 

Jim and I start to drift apart. "I'm still here for you," he tells me in a rare heart-to-heart between the two of us. "I'm just a bit jealous."

"Jealous?" I repeat, flabbergasted. 

"Of course. I always wanted a soulmate. You get one and you're not even sure you want him. Plus, Sherlock was my celebrity crush."

"Sorry?" 

He laughs, and for just a moment I see the old Jim. "I'm not mad at you, John. And I'll always be in your corner if you need me. I'm thinking I'm going to ask Mycroft to send me to school. I'd like to get out of the house a bit more."

"Away from me?"

"Nah. Maybe meet a nice boy, settle down. Find my Alpha."

"Good luck," I say. 

"Yeah, thanks." 

Our conversation leaves me so disconcerted I mob Greg as soon as he comes home from work. After all, he's had a soulmate for a bit, maybe this is just the natural flow of things. 

After detailing every word of our conversation, and being reassured that this is, in fact, normal, Greg and I begin to talk of other things. "Greg, you're gay," I start. 

"Holy s**t, am I really?" 

I giggle. "Shut up! How did you know?"

"Well, when I saw Mycroft for the first time and the only thing I could think of was that I really wanted his mouth against mine, that helped me realize it."

"Before that?"

"I suppose for all intents and purposes I was straight. I liked to think about men, but didn’t act on it. That’s why I said earlier I knew I was gay, although I acted like I was straight."

I digest that for a moment. "I think I might be gay. I fantasize about kissing Sherlock way too much to be straight."

Greg hums in agreement. "Thing is, he's super attractive." Greg wisely says nothing. I think a bit longer. "How do you kiss a man?"

"Same way you kiss a woman. Lips aren't all that different whether you're a man or woman."

"I've never kissed a woman, either. Will you teach me how?"

"Shouldn't that be Sherlock's job?"

"No! I want to be experienced for him." 

"I have a soulmate, though."

"I know. I'm asking for a kiss, not a marriage proposal."

"I don't know, John."

"C'mon, please Greg?"

Greg rolls his eyes. "I swear to all things holy-". He jumps up. "C'mon, John, stand up," he orders tugging me to my feet. 

I barely have any time to register Greg's mouth on mine. His mouth feels...nice, I guess. Warm, lips a little chapped. I slide my hands under his shirt, gently running them over his abdomen. And I feel nothing. No life-changing "I'm gay!" epiphany. No spark, no fire like I heard Omega girls giggling about. Nothing. 

Greg pulls away. "You okay?" 

"Yeah, fine. Do it again."

Greg kisses me again and now I'm truly despairing. Maybe I am broken. There is no reaction whatsoever. 

Greg pulls away from me with a gasp. I'm feeling terrible now-should I tell him I didn't like the kiss? Is it leading him on if I don't? Have I lost one of my only friends for a bit of experimentation?

"Mycroft?" Greg's voice is full of shock, and it makes me turn to the door. Mycroft stands there looking like he's going to be ill. "Mycroft, I-" 

Mycroft turns and walks out, ignore Greg. I turn to look at Greg then. He looks heartbroken, like a kicked puppy. "I- He just left me." Greg tells me. 

Now I feel really terrible. Greg leaves to find Mycroft, and I slump on the floor. What have I done?  
.............................................................  
Right before dinner, Greg finds me to report Mycroft has locked himself in his office. "He won't talk to me, but I can smell him. I know he's in there," Greg tells me tearfully. 

I silently vow to Greg that I will fix his relationship with Mycroft. After all, the two of them practically became my role models for a healthy Alpha-Omega relationship. And now I screwed that up. 

Dinner is a tense affair. Mycroft doesn't unlock himself from his office, and Greg is too distraught to eat. After a few minutes he excuses himself, tears pouring down his cheeks. I'm barely eating either, the guilt is a swelling knot in my stomach that leaves no place for food. Jim, Mike, and Molly are trying desperately to figure out what happened, and Sherlock's staring at me like he's hoping to figure out the truth based on my face alone. Can he tell I kissed Greg? Does he care? 

After a few more minutes, I make my escape too. I sit outside my bedroom for a bit, listening to Greg. Abruptly I leap up and head off to Mycroft's office. I need to fix this. 

I wait outside the room awkwardly for a moment, deliberating. Fact of the matter is, Mycroft has a legitimate reason to be upset. I was kissing his soulmate. He might even be angry. Well, if he hits me I'll just have to square up and take it like an Alpha. With this in mind, I knock on the door. 

No response. Well, that's to be expected. I take a quick sniff of the air. Mycroft is definitely in there, just ignoring me. Okay, take two. 

"Mycroft, it's John. I know you're mad at me, and you have good reason to be. Don't be mad at Greg though, I kinda forced him to-"

The door opens and Mycroft stands there glaring at me. I shiver. "Come inside," Mycroft tells me, tone clipped. He locks the door again, and pulls out a chair for me. "Sit." I sit, despite my instincts telling me to literally break down the door and run. 

Mycroft sits behind his desk, steeples his fingers, and stares at me. He doesn't say anything, so I feel the need to speak. 

"I'm sorry, it's all my fault." Mycroft holds up a hand, and I fall silent again. After five minutes, he finally speaks. "Why?"

"I thought that-well, it's complicated. I freaked out over the fact that I might be gay. And I'd never kissed anybody before, so I asked Greg to kiss me, so I had experience. But kissing him wasn't nice, and now I think I might be asexual."

Mycroft's eyebrows climb higher as I speak, nearly disappearing into his hairline. "Did you talk to Sherlock at all?"

"No, there's nothing to say. I'm not gay!"

Mycroft shoots me a look. "John, I don't mean to offend you, but your soulmate is a male, you are quite clearly gay. Severely repressed, but still gay."

"I didn't even enjoy kissing a man!"

"Because he's MY mate!"

"And I'm sorry! But it was either Jim or Greg or Mike or Sherlock or you, and Jim is upset with me, Sherlock's my mate, you're kinda scary, and Mike's not gay, so that left Greg."

"No, that's not the point. Greg is my mate, so of course you didn't like kissing him-I mated him. He's mine, not yours!"

"So like, biologically, I wouldn't enjoy kissing anyone's mate?"

"Correct."

"So I'm not asexual?"

"You have a crush on Sherlock, so no."

"Oh. For what it's worth, I'm really sorry I kissed Greg."

"Why didn't you take your concerns to Sherlock?" 

I turn red and can't meet Mycroft's gaze anymore. "I thought, I mean, I just didn't want to tell him I'd never kissed anyone."

"John, my brother experiments with brains. He couldn't care about people, and he's often rude and inconsiderate. How many people do you think he's kissed?"

"He's bloody gorgeous!"

Mycroft smiles a tiny bit. "Between the two of us, he is certainly more attractive. But he hasn't kissed anyone, either. Gorgeousness aside."

I'm not even sure how to respond to that. I'm shocked, to say the least.

"Oh my gosh, I've really screwed up."

"Yes you have," Mycroft tells me in a no-nonsense tone. "But John, you can fix this. You're already trying, which is a good sign. You have to actually talk to Sherlock, you know. Tell him what's happened."

"I can't!"

"You need to. It's not fair to him to ignore it."

"I really can't!" 

"I can help you, if you like."

"Maybe. I don't know."

"Just let me know."

"Yeah okay. Thank you, Mycroft. And sorry, again." I stand to leave, then remembered why I came in the first place. "Please talk to Greg."

Mycroft stands up, following me out. "I will, John. I promise."


	11. Retributions

Greg doesn't come to his bed at all in the night, and from what he tells me in the morning, he never will again. "Mycroft asked me to move into his room with him!" Greg tells me joyously. 

I remember my friend's sadness my first day here that Mycroft wouldn't let them share a room and I'm excited for him. "That's wonderful, Greg!"

"Yes we're all so overjoyed," I hear my mate drawl behind me. 

"Shut up, Sherlock. I'm in a great mood and not even you can ruin it," I hear Greg say as I scamper off to the dining room. I don't want to make eye contact with him yet. 

I'm the first person done eating breakfast, so I jump up and begin clearing dishes. It's habit at this point, leftover from my Father beating me if the dishes weren't done. 

"John, sit down," Mycroft orders. 

"I'd prefer to do this," I answer, frantically putting everything away. 

"John sit down!"

"Let me alone, Dad!" I yell. 

Mycroft's eyes widen a bit. I hear Jim suck in a shocked breath. "John-" Mycroft begins, and suddenly I drop the dishes. I'm pretty sure everything has broken, and now I'm yanking the pieces viciously toward me, trying to clean up. 

"John, stop," Mycroft says. 

"No, no, I've got to clean it up, I'm so sorry I-"

"John," Mycroft says, getting onto the floor with me. He takes both my hands and tilts my head up so I'm looking at him, "Stop. It's okay."

"I'm sorry," I tell him, and I am. I'm sorry I kissed his mate, I'm sorry I almost ruined their relationship, I'm sorry I called him my father, I'm sorry I can't behave better, I'm sorry I broke his dishes. 

"I know, John. I know." He pulls me into his arms, smoothing a hand over my hair. "It's alright."

I stay in his lap, smelling the comforting smell of family. There is a part of me that panics more at this, but I firmly tamp it down. Sherlock is my mate, Mycroft is his family which makes him my family. Simple math: Mycroft equals family. 

"Love you, Dad," I mumble into his neck. He freezes. 

I have just enough time to feel a pang of regret for upsetting him more before he answers, "Love you too, John."

I pull myself up and grab a broom and dustpan. "Let that go, we need to get the cut washed out first," Sherlock tells me. 

As it turns out, the cut is small enough and shallow enough I won't need stitches. Sherlock helps me wash out the cut in the bathroom, liberally sprays the area with hydrogen peroxide, and wraps it in a bandaid. Next he kisses my bandaged finger, holding eye contact with me.

"I kissed Greg!" I exclaim. 

Sherlock freezes. For a good several minutes he doesn't say anything, doesn't even blink. I'm waiting for a response, for forgiveness or anger bubbling over, but I didn't expect catatonia. I stand there for ten minutes. Eventually he does blink, but nothing else. So I leave. 

Common sense would probably dictate I go to my room, so I don't. I open the door, praying that nobody will hear me. Nobody comes, and I stroll off down the driveway. If Sherlock hates me, the best course of action is to remove myself from his life permanently. If I go back to where we stayed when we first met my mate, perhaps my pack will join me. And if not, I'll just have to survive on my own. Either way Sherlock won't be burdened with me. 

As soon as I'm out of sight I take off running. Goodbye, Sherlock. I'm sorry I screwed up so badly. 

Once I arrive at our old campsite I realize how much pain I'm in physically. My leg and ribs are screaming for me to stop running, shaking enough that I finally collapse into a pile of snow. With a lot of effort I drag myself out of the snow and inside of a hollowed out log. As I do it starts to snow, and I don't have my jacket. I just lay there and shiver and cry. This is my retribution, this is what I deserve for hurting those I love.


	12. My Mate *Sherlock Interlude

"I kissed Greg!" John's exclamation sends me spiraling into the walls of my Mind Palace. I have to think about how to respond to this. A part of me is furious, but I ignore that. John needs a well-thought out response, so as not to scare him away. I vaguely register he's left, so I set off to find Mycroft. 

A quick chat with my big brother lends some insight into John's behavior. If he thought I was experienced, I can hardly fault him for wanting to be experienced for me. I'm a bit upset he didn't ask me, but there's not much to be done about it now. 

I realize a niggling instinct is bugging me, informing me John is in danger. Probably emotional trauma, he is more susceptible to that than most people due to his history of abuse.

I check our lab, thinking maybe he went up there to practice labeling body parts. He's not there. 

Perhaps he went to Greg. The two of them seem to have become good friends lately, so maybe he's there. 

I find Greg in Mycroft's office, and from the state of his hair and his swollen lips it's obvious I've disrupted amorous kissing. Yuck. 

"Greg, have you seen John?"

"Not since this morning when he cut his hand at breakfast."

"Mycroft?"

"I was with you, then Gregory, so no."

I leave the two of them at it and go upstairs again. I find Mike and Molly in Molly's room, bent over math homework. 

"Have either of you seen John?"

"No Sherlock, sorry," they chorus together. 

Last try then-Jim. I know John and Jim had a small falling out lately, but it's the only other place John could be. I try Jim's door, which is locked, so I knock instead. 

"One minute," Jim snaps peevishly. The door clicks and he comes out dressed in only a pair of boxers. Coupled with the fresh bond bite on his neck, it doesn't take a genius to figure out what he's doing in his room with the door locked. 

My brain stutters to a stop, and while it's offline I ask, "Does Mycroft know you have someone over?"

"Yes. We're studying."

This is so far from the truth I say, "Studying for what?"

Jim's mouth curls into a sneer. "Health class. Now if you'll excuse me-" he opens the door and tries to close it in my face, but I wedge my foot in the door. 

"Wait! Have you seen John?"

"Not since breakfast."

"He's missing. I don't think he's in the house."

Jim rolls his eyes. "Is he off somewhere being melodramatic again? No, don't answer that. Dumb best friend. Give me a minute."

The door slams in my face. I hear things being thrown. "Get up, my best friend is missing. We're going to look for him."

Clothes rustle inside the bedroom, someone falls on their face with a loud "Ow!" and then the door opens again. Jim and his soulmate both stumble out. 

"Hi, I'm Sebastian Moran," the blonde boy who came out with Jim tells me. He offers me his hand, which I just stare at. Who cares about social niceties when my soulmate is missing?

"He's the socially awkward one," Jim tells his soulmate. He calls for his pack, who both come running. 

"You bonded and you didn't tell us!" Molly shrieks. 

"Sorry. We'll talk about it later, right now we need to find John. Where's Mycroft?"

"In his office kissing Greg," I answer. 

"Thanks," Jim says, running down the hall screaming, "Yo Mycroft! John's missing, get your tongue out of Greg's mouth and come help us look for him!" Sebastian trails his energetic mate, smiling bemusedly at the brunette. 

Mike, Molly and I troop downstairs at a more sedate rate. As soon as Mycroft and Greg join us, I take charge. "His jacket is on the hook, so if he is outside he's sans jacket, thus at risk for frostbite. Finding him quickly is paramount. Split up outside, Mike and Molly go north, Greg and Mycroft go south, Jim and Sebastian go east. I'll go west. Yell for him within the boundaries of our property and if we can't find him converge back by our front gate. Jim, if you and Sebastian do anything other than hunt for John-"

"My best friend is missing. Even I have more class than that."

We head outside. I slide John's jacket on, though it's three sizes too small, in hopes of warming it for when we find him. "John? John if you can hear me, answer me!" I throw all of my Alpha strength behind the command. If John is anywhere in the vicinity he will be compelled by his Omega biology to answer me. He doesn't. 

We reconvene by the front gate as I ordered. Everyone is already gathered, and John is not in their midst. 

"He's gone. Lets all split up. Mike, Molly, and Jim, did he have any old hiding spots? Particularly if he was hiding from his father?"

"No," Jim answers, while the other two shake their heads. 

"Can I see his jacket?" I stare at Sebastian, a bit surprised, but I relinquish my hold on my mate's jacket. Sebastian holds it to his nose and inhales deeply. He turns and sniffs the air. "He went this way."

I bite down the growl traveling up my throat in challenge to Sebastian smelling my mate. He is clearly a tracker, and if he knows where to find John that is helpful, I tell myself as I lope along beside Sebastian. 

We burst onto a clearing and Sebastian stops. "If course!" I hear Mike exclaim, and I realize this was where John and his pack lived for a bit before they came to us. 

John isn't in the clearing, but there is a large log that might be hollow, so I run over, drop to the ground, and wriggle in.My soulmate is lying in the log, shivering. 

"John," I whisper, and his eyes fly open. 

"SH-Sher-sherlock?" John stutters as I yank off his jacket and wrap it around him. My own follows a moment later. "I th-th-thought you were m-m-mad at m-m-m-me?"

"No John," I reassure him as he bends down to nuzzle his nose in our combined scent. "I had to process what you said, and the processing took a while. I'm sorry I scared you."

The next time John speaks he doesn't stutter, which I'm glad for because it means he's growing warm. "So you're not upset I kissed Greg?"

"A little, yes," I answer truthfully. "I really wish you would have spoken to me regarding this whole issue. But I can't fault you for trying to be experienced for me once you made the faulty assumption I was also experienced."

"I am sorry, truly. I should have told you, talked to you earlier."

I pull my Omega close, and surprisingly he allows it. He goes boneless the second I curl him around me, my scent soothing him. We lie there on the snowy ground together, and I whisper "I love you, John."

John reacts like I've electrocuted him. He stiffens and jerks away simultaneously. "What?" I have enough time to regret my words before he smiles and requests, "Say it again, please?" so timidly.

"I love you, John Watson, my mate, my Omega. I love you."

"I-" my hand flies up to cover his mouth. 

"Please don't say it just because I did."

"Sherlock, who else would I love if not for you? You encourage me in my dream to be a doctor, you take care of me, you help me be strong. Who else would you have me love, if not for you?" He shakes his head. "Never doubt that my words are not being said out of obligation. I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I love your smile and your eyes and your curls. I love that you're taller than me, it makes me feel protected. I love your brilliant mind. I even love your experiments, your body parts in the fridge, and your haphazard way of cleaning. I love you, my mate, my Alpha, my Sherlock, with every fiber of my being."

He surges forward at the end of his beautiful speech, closing the small gap between us to kiss me. I yank him on top of me and kiss him passionately. He responds with equal fervor. 

When he pulls away he clips his head on the top of the log, and his indignant expression makes me laugh. John giggles too. 

I crawl out of the log and he follows, taking my hand as soon as we are both standing. He looks around in shock at the group gathered. "You all came to help find me?"

"Duh, John," Jim says. 

"Someone's grumpy," John jokes. 

"Someone just got bonded and was pulled away from their mate because their dumb best friend had to go be melodramatic in a freaking log."

"You got bonded?!"

"That would be the only thing you heard. This is my mate, Sebastian Moran."

The two boys shake hands. "So how did you meet Jim?"

"School," Sebastian responds. 

"Not to be rude, but I'm cold. Can we please go back to the house?" Greg pleads. 

"You just want to stick your tongue back in Mycroft's mouth," Jim says viciously, though he laughs so Greg knows it's a joke. 

Greg tackles him to the ground, smearing snow in Jim's face. Sebastian attacks, launching himself at Greg and hurling snowballs at him. Mycroft jumps into the fray, and is quickly joined by Mike and Molly. John hits me in the face with a snowball, and suddenly all decorum is lost as the Holmes family holds their first snowball fight ever.


	13. Family Bonds of a New Nature

*Six months later*  
After lots of careful consideration, Sherlock and I had decided we were going to bond. He wanted us to have the opportunity to get to know each other without feeling a sense of obligation, he had told me. But he didn't want to wait any longer to give me an equal partnership in our relationship. We also agreed we would be married, but probably not for several years yet-after I graduated college as a doctor, however long that will take. 

We were also going to move out. Sherlock found a nice flat on Baker Street. The landlady is very sweet, too. She knew Sherlock-he helped make sure her husband was arrested and received the death penalty- so she was positively overjoyed we'd be moving in. Didn't even care we were gay, only wanted to discuss wedding dates because "Mrs. Turner next door has married ones," whatever that's supposed to mean. 

The flat itself was beautiful, though I didn't think we'd be able to afford it, but Sherlock said we were fine. So we put down a security deposit and returned to Sherlock's family home for the last time to stay. 

After dinner, Sherlock and I went into Mycroft's office with him and Greg to talk. We both wanted to be sure they knew they could come over any time, but that we wanted space as a newly-bonded couple. 

Mycroft told us Greg was demanding that we come over at least once a week for a meal. Then Greg smacked Mycroft, and as it turned out, it was actually Mycroft that wanted us back for meals. 

"John? Hey John?" I snap myself out of my reminiscing, looking at Greg curiously. Sherlock had sent me to work with him today, so he could set up our flat for me. We were bonding tonight, so he sent me with Greg to work so it could be a surprise for me, how the flat looked when it was set up. I was just trusting it would look nice, and praying there wouldn't be body parts on the counters right away. 

"Yeah, Greg?" 

"They're bringing in a domestic violence case. Omega woman. The Alpha was arrested, but she's understandably pretty traumatized so I'm going to help calm her. Stay here."

I know Greg's looking out for me, so I agree and sink back into the chair. Now that he's gone, I've stolen his desk chair, which is way more comfortable than the guest chair I've been daydreaming about the future in, accompanied by the click-clack of Greg's typing. 

I've just gotten comfortable when I have this nagging feeling I have to go. I'm not sure what it is, never felt anything like this before, but my body is demanding action so I move. I'm out the door and moving down the hall in a trancelike state, completely forgetting Greg's order to stay put. 

Out in the main corridor, right by the entrance, Greg is trying to soothe an Omega woman. My legs grind to a halt, watching interestedly. "Here, ma'am, if you'll just follow me into here-"

"You smell just like my son!" the woman exclaims tearfully, and just like that my legs unlock and carry me forward again. 

"Mom?"

"John?" I'm running to her, throwing my arms around her, and she's sobbing into my shoulder. "Oh John, my baby, my boy, my son. John, John, John. Oh my son," she croons, cradling me close. 

"Well ain't that touching." My spine stiffens in anger as my mother's entire body shudders. I turn to face my nightmares, keeping an arm on my mother. "Where you been, boy? Prostituting yourself? Got nicer clothes than when you left."

"My Alpha and soon-to-be bondmate bought them," I say. I see Greg out of the corner of my eye, frantically telling them to get him away, but I step closer. I'm not done yet. "I found the perfect man. He's sweet and caring, kind and compassionate. I love him. He's nothing like you, he shows me what love is every day."

"They're all sweet in the beginning, you naïve boy," my father tells me. "Just you wait. He's got his claws into you, he'll show his true self soon."

"He already has," I say firmly. "We're going to be bonded, tonight. Because he loves me and I love him."

"John!" I turn to find Mycroft and Sherlock both running towards me. Sherlock gets to me first, grabbing me and smelling all over to be certain I'm alright. Once he releases me, Mycroft makes a compulsory check himself. 

"Guys, this is my mother," I say proudly, pulling her out from behind me. She smiles tentatively at the two Alphas. 

Mycroft turns to my father and his eyes narrow. "So this is your father?"

"Yes." 

Mycroft's fist moves faster than I can see, slamming into my father's face and leaving bright red blood in its place. Everyone gasps, my Mother shudders. "Don't you ever hurt my boy again."

"Mycroft, honestly!" Greg and I scold together, exasperated. His knuckles are split but otherwise he's fine. Greg kisses his knuckles, prompting Sherlock and I to roll our eyes and make twin gagging noises. 

The sergeants holding my father drag him off, leaving me standing with my expanded family. I'm not sure what to say, how to request what I want, but thankfully Mycroft is a Holmes and thus a mind-reader. 

"How do you do, Mrs. Watson? My name is Mycroft Holmes, I am the Pack Alpha over your son at the moment. May I introduce my beloved Omega, Gregory Lestrade, and my younger brother, and your son's Alpha, Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock offers his hand, oozing charm. "Mrs. Watson, my pleasure. I can see John gets his good looks from you," he says as he kisses her hand. 

She giggles. "Such a charmer, John!" 

I blush in response. 

"We would like you to come dine with us this evening, if you have no other plans," Mycroft informs my mother. 

"Nonsense, I couldn't impose on you like that."

"We insist," Greg tells her. "It's no imposition."

"Well, alright."

We load into Mycroft's car. I'm the last one in, so I don't immediately grasp why Sherlock turns around to leer at me as we enter the car. Once I'm looking around, it becomes abundantly clear. Mycroft's limo seats three people. Greg is perched atop Mycroft, my mother has the second seat, which Sherlock and I both have to fit in. 

Sherlock crawls in, then pats his leg. "Coming, John?" It feels indecent sitting on my soulmate's lap in front of my mother, but I don't have a choice. I crawl in and am instantly yanked close by Sherlock. I blush profusely. I feel his chest rumble and realize he's enjoying my discomfort. 

When we get into the driveway, I leap out almost the instant the car stops. Sherlock clambers out behind me while Greg and Mycroft exit the other door and hold it open for my mother, who takes Mycroft's hand and comments about true gentlemen. She pats Greg's cheek, reassures him he's found a good Alpha, and dutifully follows Mycroft inside. 

As I turn to follow them inside, I realize Sherlock has ahold of my arm. "Hey, everything okay?" I question. 

"Perhaps I should ask you." 

My brow crinkles in confusion. "What?"

"If you don't want to be bonded, if you've changed your mind, I won't be offended."

I'm so flabbergasted by this I begin running through my actions mentally. Nothing comes to mind that might require that statement. 

"What? Why would you think that?"

"You seemed very uncomfortable with being near me in the car."

"Because my mother was right there."

That stops him. "Oh. I thought you thought the idea of being with me was distasteful."

"No, you ridiculous man. I want this, I want you. Just, I don't want to freak my mom out."

"That's a relief," he tells me, lips descending on mine. We kiss for a while, his tongue caressing mine lovingly, and I'm squeezing against him begging for more-more kissing, I adore this- when Jim yells out to us. 

"Oi! Food's done, whenever you two lovebirds want to grace us with your presence." Laughing, Sherlock grabs my hand and we run into the house together.   
.............................................................  
Once dinner is finished, we sit around talking for a while. I lean in close with my mother, catching up on what's happened with my family since I left. Harry got bonded, though my mom says they fight all the time. After she left, my dad got a lot worse, eventually getting to the events of today when a well-meaning neighbor called the cops. 

"John," she whispers, "don't let my life distract you from yours. Just because I had a cruel mate doesn't mean I think you should stop your plans to be bonded. Are you truly in love?"

"Yes." 

"Then you bond with that man. They're not all like your father, you know."

"I know."

Mycroft yawns then, sufficiently ending the conversation. "I'm tired, and I'm going to bed."

"I should leave as well," my mother says, standing. 

It's testament to how tired Mycroft is that he doesn't immediately correct what she says. Instead, his brow furrows and he looks confused. "Where will you go?"

"Back to my house," my mother says. 

"Is that what you want? To continue living there?"

"I'll move when I get the chance."

"Move in with us. We've got lots of space, especially now that John and Sherlock are moving out."

My mother bursts into tears and throws herself at Mycroft, who shoots us all a panicked look and awkwardly pats her back. "Gregory, could you show Mrs. Watson upstairs? I really must be going to bed."

Greg leads my mother upstairs, or rather he tries, but she flies back down to hug me. "Good luck, sweetheart. I love you."

She hugs my mate too, and he looks as panicked as his brother. "Goodnight, Sherlock. Take good care of my son."

"I will," he vows. 

Once she is upstairs again, he turns to me. "Shall we go?"

Mycroft's ever-present limo drives us over to Baker Street. We exit the car together, Sherlock's thumb rubbing circles around my hand. 

As Sherlock opens the door, he scoops me up and carries me in. It's a testament to how much I trust this man that I don't flip out. 

"Put me down, you nut!"

"Welcome home, John."

He crosses over to the table, where I can see a note was left. 'Boys, I'm off to my sister's for the weekend. You can be as loud as you want. XOX, Mrs. Hudson.' I turn red. 

He carries me into the bedroom and sets me lovingly on the bed. "Last chance to back out," he warns me. 

"I'm sure about this. I love you, I want to be your family and for you to be mine."

"I love you, John. I always have and I always will," he answers.


End file.
